The next few short months passed as a blur for amnesiac girl. She could hardly recall all that had happened... finding the city... abandoning the armor... finding some roughshod clothes and some food by scavenging the cast-offs of others. She lived on the streets, hiding during the day, coming out at night to scavenge, and occasionally, to steal to try and stay alive. A part of her cried out, wanting to leave and explore... the wide world beckoning her. But she couldn't. She didn't know where to go. She had to stay in one place and... try and sort everything out.

Try as she might, nothing came to her.

She could think until her head started to hurt, but never more than a flash of memory, of insight. She knew how to survive in the desert, for example... knew where to find water and when to move, when to conserve energy. But she couldn't recall ever being to one, apart from her awakening two months ago. She knew a number of languages, and seemed able to speak fluent Spanish, Japanese, and one that was a complete unknown, even to her. But she couldn't remember having ever studied any of them.

And beyond that, she knew how to fight.

One week ago, a criminal had tried to kidnap her right off the side of the road. Without even realizing what she was doing, she'd broken his wrist and tossed him head-over-heels into the gutter. Then, startled by her sudden ferocity, she'd turned and ran. She didn't know what had happened to him.

She didn't know a lot of things. All she got were images. A tower. A church. A boy with green skin. A masked man. And then her head would start to hurt, and she'd lose the images, and have nothing left. And now she sat amongst a number of other homeless of Jump City, gathered around a broken television. A fire had been lit inside of it, and they all did their best to keep warm in this cool evening.

This was her life now.

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That was, of course, until the sirens sounded, and the flash of red and blue lights in the alleyway. As one, the poor and destitute threw themselves bodily from the alley, running for all they were worth, and Terra was quickly swept up with them. Though smaller and shorter-limbed than the adults, she was none-the-less had an impressive running speed. Pity she wasn't nearly as agile, as her speed made her crash headfirst into the policeman coming out the other end of the alley. Her friends ducked down another turn, but she was caught and cuffed and tossed into the back of a police car.

What happened then was a blur to her as well... she couldn't answer the police's questions, after all. She honestly didn't know, but it was apparent the man on duty didn't believe her. So they'd put her away in a cold, empty room for questioning, saying someone would be with her shortly. A lawyer, she suspected... then vaguely wondered how she knew that.

And then she sighed again, brushing her blonde hair behind her ear.

There was a mirror in here, and that was the real highlight of the room. She knew the police were behind it, watching her, waiting to catch her in a lie. Not that she could lie... couldn't tell a lie if you didn't know the truth, and she didn't even know that much. But she finally had a chance to see her reflection, and get a real good look at herself. She scooted her chair across the room to peer into the mirror's depths.

Blonde hair, frizzled and grimy. It might've once been bright as sunshine, but now it was gritty and disgusting and very nearly brown. Peering out underneath her bangs were a pair of sky-blue eyes, wide, expressive... and empty. She could see it in her own expression. Her reflection wanted to know who she was as much as she did. But she had no answers for herself either.

Shaking her head slightly, she took another look at herself. Slim. Narrow shoulders. Thin waist. Virtually no cleavage. And why on earth would I care about that? she thought suddenly. Who am I trying to impress? She couldn't have been older than thirteen, at the very oldest.

So who am I?

Am I nice? Am I mean? Do I have lots of friends? Where are they all? How long was I down in that cave?

Questions. Questions and no answers.

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"Young miss?"

Her head snapped up and around so suddenly for a second she thought she'd get whiplash, as she suddenly realized she was no longer alone in the room. The door hung open, and a strange man stood there, obviously having just entered. She must have been caught up in her reverie.

It was an elderly man, grey-haired and very pale. His eyes were deeply set into his face and penetrating black. He was dressed impeccably in a crisp white suit that even she could've guessed cost a small fortune. A briefcase hung at his side, and she realized he'd doffed his hat, placing it on the table as he stepped into the room towards her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you my dear," his said, his accent distinctly British. Upper-class British, no less.

"Oh..." she replied, not sure how to respond. She scooted back slightly in her chair, then wondered suddenly why she was afraid.

"I understand you've been living rough the last few weeks," he began, placing his briefcase down on the table and briskly moving to unlock it and flip it open, its contents hidden from her eyes. Despite his obvious age, he moved with a practiced skill. Who was he? Someone I know? she wondered idly.

"I... yes..." she replied after a moment's thought. Then, before she realized what she was doing, she blurted out, "I don't have anywhere to go."

A momentary silence filled the air as the elderly individual digested that piece of information. "I see," he replied after a moments thought. Reaching into his case, he drew out a sheaf of papers. After a moment, he glanced over at the mirror. Curious, she followed his gaze, but whoever he was looking at, she couldn't see. And neither could he. But if he was expecting some sort of signal, nothing came. So he lightly placed the papers down on the table between them, along with a simple black pen.

"Well, I'd like to help you, uhm... young miss...?" he asked, hoping for a name.

"I... I'm..." she started to say, but couldn't form the words. Couldn't say it. To do so, to admit it to a stranger, was to admit defeat. To accept it as true. She didn't know who she was. She couldn't remember anything. Before she realized what was happening, she was breaking down into tears, lifting up her legs and cradling her knees against her chest, sobbing. Damnit, why?

No tears, she told herself. Have to be strong... but she couldn't believe it, and the tears continued to flow freely.

She nearly jumped clean out of her skin when she felt a gentle hand upon her shoulder, and peered up to see the face of the old man. He was smiling down at her, not unkindly either. Trying to comfort her.

"I'm sorry, my dear... I didn't mean to upset you."

"I... I don't... don't know who I am," she managed to get out between sobs, bravely choking down her tears.

He nodded, shifting back away and giving her space, making his way over to his briefcase. "So I understand from the officers who brought you in and initially questioned you... amnesia?"

She nodded mutely.

"A most undesirable position to find ones self in," he remarked quietly. "However, you will find yourself most fortunate today, young miss," he added, sliding the papers towards her, along with the pen.

She raised her head to peer at him with one eye, the other hidden by her long bangs. "... what's this?" she asked.

"I represent a man who would like to help you, a Mr. Wilson," the older man said. "Your case came to his attention, and he is sympathetic to your plight. This papers handle the legal ramifications of his becoming your guardian."

"But... why... how? Does he know me?" she asked, suddenly on her feet, seizing onto this hope.

She noticed a sudden shift in the old man's demeanor. He looked... uncomfortable. "I... don't believe so," said the elderly man, glancing again at the mirror. "He is something of a... philanthropist, I suppose you could say."

She nodded thoughtfully, speaking without realizing it "The effort or inclination to increase the well-being of humankind, as by charitable aid or donations..." Then abruptly trailed off.

He smiled. "My employer is interested in sending you to a nearby school as well, once your head is cleared up a bit. He has a... penchant... for spotting talent in young people."

"I... but... I have no way to repay him."

The older man shook his head. "There is no need. Mr. Wilson is very wealthy, he feels he can spare this expense. He simply wants to see you reach your potential."

It all sounded too good for her. There had to be a catch. "Nothing in return?"

"Nothing."

"Uhm... Mister..."

"Wintergreen," he said, with a formal, polite bow worthy of an Englishman. "William Randolf Wintergreen, at your service."

"Mr. Wintergreen," she said, glad to know something at long last. "If your client, Mr. Wilson... is so interested in me... why is he not here himself?"

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"Clever girl."

Behind the glass mirror, another room lay, dark and shadowy. Necessary for the one-way window to work, and allow those in the dark room to see those in the other. Namely, allowing the shadowy figure in question to keep an eye on the proceedings between his partner and his former apprentice. All in all, things were going as planned. Which meant it was time for him to make his appearance. His hand reached out, and flicked a nearby light, which allowed the one-way window to become two-way.

"Well done," he said, even as his sudden appearance spooked both the girl and his partner. He knew his current appearance wasn't half as intimidating as his armor and mask, but damned if he didn't enjoy working like this. One of the small pleasures in life he indulged in. Frightening others. Being deliberately obscure and mysterious. Right now, he was a little less of both of those, but he still cut an imposing figure in his dark suit and tie, of a similar make to his partner Wintergreen's, but of black and dark grays instead of all white. A patch was in place to conceal the scar over his right eye, but thankfully the shadows overhead were helping to keep that side of his face out of the light anyway.

"Do... do I know you sir?" asked the girl after a moment's hesitation.

"Not exactly," he replied, reaching up to stroke his chin, brushing his hands through his short white beard. He needed to be delicate about this. After all, it was beneath him to tell a lie... he simply needed to be careful what truth he told her. "I am... familiar with the circumstances of the last few months. That you are without memories and have been wandering the streets, alone... confused... lost."

"... yes," she managed to murmur.

"I am offering an alternative to that. A home. Schooling. A life."

Hesitantly, she stood tall, making her way to the window. "I want that very much..."

He nodded, waiting for her to continue. She hesitantly stretched out her hand...

... only to meet the glass, and sharply yank it back. "I want to meet you in person," she said suddenly. "Not through a mirror."

A quirk of the eyebrow, and Mr. Wilson reached out, and flicked the switch. Instantly Terra lost sight of him, replaced by the image of herself and Wintergreen. A few moments passed, and for a moment, she feared almost that she'd been rejected. That she'd gone too far by making that request. That he'd turn her down and she'd go back to her life on the streets. Or wind up imprisoned. Or...

The door suddenly opened, and there stood Mr. Wilson, peering down at her with a single blue-grey eye. She shrank back fearfully. And suddenly, she realized, she did know him. She didn't know from where, or when, but something about that eye... brought back memories. No, not quite memories. A feeling of familiarity.

To a girl who had nothing to hold onto, she seized onto this and clung on for dear life.

"Here I am," he said quietly, arms out to present himself.

"I... I accept, sir. I want to... I..."

He smiled gently at her, his one eye softening. "I understand, my dear. You have been through quite a lot... through hell and back, or so it may seem. I can relate in a lot of ways. And you are also wary. I do not blame you in the least."

Idly he reached up and slipped a hand into the front of his jacket, for a secret pocket there. This, he knew, would likely seal the deal. He drew out a small item in his hand, offering a closed fist towards the girl, who watched him curiously. "Trust is easy to break but... it takes time to build... consider this a gesture of my trust. A symbol, if you will."

His hand turned up and his palm opened, revealing the object inside. Her eyes opened wide in shock.

It was a little blue butterfly hairpiece.

A wave of familiarity washed over her. Stunned, she could do nothing as he gently brushed back her unruly hair and attached the hairpiece, holding it back from her eyes. Eyes shimmering with a new kind of tear now. She felt a conflicting sense of emotions. Hatred and love. Anger and joy. Fear and comfort. She didn't know what to think. She knew Wilson, she knew the gesture, she knew the item but... she didn't know if she liked it or not.

"The law requires you spend the night here while we handle all the paperwork," said Mr. Wilson, nodding to Wintergreen, who gathered up the papers. "But we'll be back for you in the morning to pick you up. Bright and early," he added with a smile.

"There ah... is one other thing," said Wintergreen, getting their attention. "We need a name to include on these papers. Jane Doe simply won't do, there's half a dozen of those in every jail and hospital around the city."

Mr. Wilson turned back to regard the girl, who took a moment to think. There was only one name she really knew, so the choice was easy.

"Tara," she said.

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Everything in order, Mr. Slade Wilson stepped out of the police station and into the back of his limousine. Wintergreen was driving, hat back on his head, suitcase resting on the seat beside him. They rarely brought out the limousine these days. Seemed like months really since they'd done so. Slade had been busy recuperating from a rather nasty experience, and Wintergreen had been busy with their joint associates, the Brotherhood of Evil.

"That seemed to go well sir."

"Indeed... very well. Drive," said Slade, leaning back in his seat, elbow resting on the window sill, one hand upraised to stroke his chin again in idle contemplation. His longtime partner in crime, Wintergreen obeyed, and the limo pulled out of the parking lot and down the busy street. They'd be at the fabulous Wilson retreat in half an hour, given traffic.

"You paid off the police officer who brought Terra in?" asked Slade idly, watching the streetlights and the people as the limo drove on.

"In full sir."

"Perfect. Then by tomorrow everything should be in order and Ter-... Tara... will be living at the apartment, paid out in my name."

"A name that commands much respect."

"Money commands respect from the fools who run this city. Money or violence."

"Indeed... no chance she would be able to live with us then?"

"Wintergreen..."

"I admit I almost miss the... joys... of raising a teenager under the same roof. It hasn't been quite the same in a long time, Slade. Not since Rose went off to college."

"Mmm... too quiet. But you know as well as I do that the paperwork for two elderly males to have one teenaged girl live with them... even with bribes..."

"Too much attention."

"Decidedly too much attention. She will be able to visit, old friend."

Idly, Wintergreen glanced up at the rearview mirror, glancing at his old friend, who didn't look a day over thirty, at that, despite the fact that they were the same age.

"If I may be so bold sir..."

In the mirror, Slade glanced up, indicating he was listening.

"What are your plans for young miss Tara?"

Slade thought a long moment on that before he replied. Not because he intended to lie, of course. Even if he could lie he couldn't lie to Wintergreen, who had been by his side since the war. They were practically brothers. Nor did he hesitate because he wasn't sure. Slade never did anything unless he was absolutely sure.

When he finally did respond, Wintergreen nodded, and continued driving.

The answer was not unexpected.

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Author's Notes:

Wintergreen was briefly seen in 'Divide and Conquer,' 'The Lost Episode,' 'Homecoming II' and 'Titans Together,' generally as a background character, and never referred to by name. Damned if my one-shots don't keep mutating into full-blown stories. And double damned if I can't seem to escape from Teen Titans! Curse their addictiveness!

Jimmy the Gothic Egg: Well it does make sense, but I never really thought about it until recently, and the idea mutated into a story.

Guardian of Azerath: Tara, actually, but actually that's the real name of the comic Terra. Tara Markov.

SxStrngSamurai13: I like Slade myself... evil but honorable, in his own little way. Since the Slade we saw in 'Things Change' was a robot, it opens up even more opportunity for Slade to change as an character.

Rocky White Wolf of Curses: Always nice to get a new fan.

Todd fan: Thank you!

ViciousAssassin: Slade didn't open the gates to release Terra's soul, she was restored when Raven brought back all the statues in Jump City to life. As for where this'll go, let's just say I've got some plans.